LIFE’S WONDERS PRAISED IN SUGGESTIVE, ODDBALL, AND NONSENSE WAYS
As a counterpoint to my usual cynical antics, I’ve committed myself to a weekly, year-long discussion of my life’s joys. But, never one for the more traditional approaches, I intend to keep things a little off side, a tad outlandish, and always one foot outside of polite company.
Some people just can’t gain weight. They eat and eat and eat, yet not a pound is gained. They are notoriously forever skinny and their gluttony goes unfettered by the usual consequences of saddlebags or bulging food babies.
I am not one of these people.
No, if I eat my favourite foods (namely, peanut butter), I gain weight. All my life I’ve maintained a respectable weight, but there have been times when I’ve dipped my toe in the buttery world of chunk – once in grade eight, and then again much more recently.
About three years ago, my doctor told me that my weight was “okay,” but that I should keep an eye on the belly fat. After all, my family has had a long and consistent love affair with diabetes (not to mention high blood pressure and heart disease).
Three years and twenty pounds later, I realized I’d listened to exactly zero of what my doctor had said. In fact, I was flirting pretty aggressively with the 200-pound mark. We were almost bedfellows. By all accounts, my trousers were already off and the lights had been dimmed; all I needed was some Barry Manilow and a bottle of lube and I was set.
But I wasn’t happy.
Worse, I was starting to look like a chunker again. Not since eighth grade had I managed that feat. Back then, it was still kind of cute; now it was just depressing — I was thirty and putting on weight like it was my career.
Something had to change. Turns out that something was me.
And so change I did. In two and a half months, I dropped about thirty pounds. No trick diets, no extreme exercise regime. I just had to stop consuming 3000 calories a day. I started by counting my calories … every goddamned one of them. It sucked, but it did the trick. I went from 3000 cals/day, to around 1800 cals/day.
Voila. Easy peasy.
Except, not really. Every minute of it sucked. “Hanger,” as it turns out, is a real thing. No, not the place where planes are stored, but the smashing together of hungry and angry. Why staring into a stocked pantry cupboard should make me seethe with rage should be obvious, but you wouldn’t think it would manifest with such regularity. But it did. A lot.
Now, I know many people struggle with their weight, and many of those same people might kind of hate how “easy” it was for me to lose my excess baggage. How dare I celebrate my weight loss. My chunk was barely even that. I was so far away from being “fat” that I should probably just keep my loss to myself. I don’t truly understand the struggle.
And maybe they’d be right.
But they can suck it.
This is my blog – I’ll celebrate what I want. Because I run this joint. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me … except maybe for weight.
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